


stroke of genius

by Deanon, WildlyJourneyed



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Fucking Machine, M/M, Voyeurism, dildo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deanon/pseuds/Deanon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildlyJourneyed/pseuds/WildlyJourneyed
Summary: It isn’t really the kind of thing you get used to, getting fucked by a machine.
Relationships: Varro/Nikon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	stroke of genius

It isn’t really the kind of thing you get used to, getting fucked by a machine.

Not like it’s the first time he’s done this but it isn’t something he’s made a _habit_ out of either, probably. For one thing it isn’t the sort of thing he’s selling at his shop _(at least in the front room)_ and for another it’s - it’s kind of weird, isn’t it? Is it weird? He feels like maybe he doesn’t have the best people around to judge if it’s weird or not.

Not that any of them know about the fucking machines. Mostly. 

_Anyways._

It isn’t the kind of thing that he’s gotten used to. It’s harder to get into at first than just doing it the, uh, old-fashion way; all the angles awkward and the dildo slipping out and prodding at him in a way that makes him laugh and flinch at the same time. The slowest setting is still almost too much.

But the rhythm builds, and builds, and he remembers why he keeps coming back to this. Infinite stamina and infinite patience, unlike some people he definitely doesn’t think about; and no awkward angles or arm or leg cramps like when he tries to do it himself. The pistons start out slow and steady and nearly silent but grow to a thundering pace, his mind going white, and it’s almost enough but he already knows it won’t quite be. He needs more, a little faster. He’s holding off, teasing himself with how long he can wait until he turns it up to the highest setting he can stand when,

“Nikon, what on earth are you testing in - oh my _god_.”

What the _fuck_.

There’s a beat where all Nikon can hear is his own fucking blood pressure raising through the roof. He dares to glance at the door and catches the tail end of someone leaving - Varro. Of course. He could die. He could die right here but then he’d be a corpse on a pistoning dildo device and he can’t bear the thought of what his siblings would say to _that_. Still achingly hard, Nikon pulls himself off the machine and curls into a ball on the floor. Should he go after Varro? Should he _kill_ Varro? There’s got to be some potion that makes people forget things, maybe he can just poison him—

Varro is back in the doorway.

“I have so many questions,” he says, eyes wide like somehow this isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Nikon in his _life_. “I didn’t know you were a bottom?”

Nikon wonders, hysterically, if he’s placed a self-destruct button somewhere in the room. Behind him, the fucking machine still whirs.

“I’m _not_.” Nikon grounds out, knowing full well that this entire situation looks like evidence to the contrary. “I’m just—what are you even doing here?”

“That’s not important, I don’t think - I don’t remember? How long have you been doing this?” Varro gestures at the machine, and not just the one Nikon was just using, but to the several others that he’d been tinkering with throughout the week. “I mean. How long have you been _making_ these?”

Nikon opens his mouth, closes it. He’s still completely fucking naked on the floor and he’s just—well, he’s also still miserably hard. The piston, thrusting a hot pink dildo back and forth at a humiliatingly fast pace, remains the only constant sound in the room. Nikon can’t look at it. Varro can’t look anywhere else. 

“So you use that to…” 

“Stop asking stupid questions.” 

“Right! Right. I’m just, I mean.” If these were literally any other circumstances, seeing the charismatic prince fumble for words would be a reward. “Does that feel… as good as the real thing?” 

That… isn’t the _worst_ question he could ask? Nikon is still only thinking of sinking into the ground, but past experience says it’s easier to give Varro what he wants and hope he gets bored and leaves on his own. “Uh.” Nikon stares up at the ceiling. “It feels different.” 

“Different how?”

“Uuuuuggghghhg.” Nikon collapses backwards, hands over his face, feeling his brain straining towards giving up forever. “I don’t know, it fucks like a machine because that’s what it is. Can we get to the part where we never talk about this ever again?”

Varro is silent for a really, really weird amount of time. The piston noise makes itself known again—fuck, he should have turned that _off_. Nikon wants so badly to check on Varro’s expression, a desire outweighed only by never looking Varro in the eye ever again.

Just as his curiosity is beginning to win out, Varro says, casually, “Can I watch?” 

Nikon sits straight up, eyes wide, completely sure he’s—misheard, misunderstood, something. “Can you what?”

“Can I watch. You. Using the machine.” Varro’s face is red too, which is how Nikon knows he’s serious because he’s known whores who couldn’t make the prince blush. “You know, as a practical demonstration.” 

Nikon’s mouth forms soundlessly around several words, before finally settling on a strained, “Why?” 

“Oh. Well, my birthday is coming up—that’s why I’m here, actually, I wanted to invite you personally to the gala,” Nikon just continues to stare dumbly while Varro rambles about a fucking birthday party for a minute, “ —but if I wanted to commission you, for one of these, as a gift. I’d like to see how it works?”

“A gift.” Nikon says, openly disapproving. At least his goddamn dick is starting to relax. Varro leans against the doorframe and hums, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“Yes. Although, maybe, it would be for you. To help with research.”

Absolutely the fuck not.

“No. Definitely no.” A machine commissioned by Varro is as good as being _fucked by Varro by proxy_ , and Nikon would rather choke to death on one of his dildo contraptions than think about that for another second. He refuses to acknowledge his traitorous dick twitching at the mere _concept_ of it.

“Why not?” It’s not quite a whine, but Varro steps further into the room and it doesn’t seem to matter anymore that Nikon is still buckass naked on the ground. Why the fuck is the machine still going. Why hasn’t either of them done _anything_ about that.

“Because.” Does he really have to answer that? Why does Varro keep asking such _stupid questions_? “Because I’m not going to - “ _make a machine for you to fuck me with_ , but the words seize in his throat in some kind of self-preservation. 

“But it’s for my birthday,” Varro says, like he’s constructed a flawless argument. “You’re going to get me a present, right?” 

He thinks, a little uncomfortably, of the pile of scrap in the corner of his workshop that is definitely not a dozen failed drafts of a present that he can give to a prince, who is also maybe one of his oldest friends but wasn’t for a while and things are still kind of weird. Not that this gift would make things _any less weird_. 

“Well, this is what I want.”

“A _fucking_ machine.” It’s not even a question anymore. Nikon isn’t even sure that he’s not in some kind of vivid wet dream turned nightmare. “You’re serious.”

“Completely. It’s a really unusual gift, don’t you think?”

Once he starts laughing he doesn’t stop for a while, burying his head in his hands as though that can block out everything that’s happening. “Yes,” he manages finally, “it really fucking is.”

“... So you’ll do it?” 

Nikon lets his lack of response speak for itself. Let Varro assume whatever he wants, Nikon can’t stop him, Nikon has _literally never_ been able to stop him and he’s not about to start now.

“Great!” Ugh. “So is this how it…?” 

Sometime while Nikon’s face has been covered, Varro comes over and starts looking at the remote. Nikon scrambles for him and then realizes that he’s _still naked, fuck_ , and by the time he’s done debating between his modesty and his pride Varro picks up the remote and starts pressing buttons.

The pistoning noise gets suddenly, violently louder, as the machine finally clicks back into the highest setting that Nikon had been working himself up towards. Varro actually jumps a little at the sound, and Nikon is going to die, right here. He is. If there is a single merciful god in this world then he will be allowed to leave this mortal plane immediately.

But there isn’t, as he damn well knows, and so Varro just laughs, a little strained, and says, “Oops!” and clicks the machine back down to a lower setting, and then rapidly back up to higher ones, so fast that the piston gets caught in between thrusts and starts stuttering.

“Holy shit, let me do it, you’re going to break something - “

“Oh! So you _will_ show me?” 

Nikon freezes with the remote in his hand, realizing his mistake far, far too late. He could just break the remote, he thinks as he simply powers it down. Break it and be done with the whole fucking wet-nightmare that’s been dragging out for far too long. But he also spent way too much time making this model, and Varro doesn’t seem like he’s leaving, and his own dick is still half hard—

“Fine.” He bites out. “But this is just for experimental purposes. I’ve been meaning to see if—” Nikon swallows his next words, because holy shit he’s not explaining the entire process of the fucking machines, and it’s not like he’s going to say _‘if I don’t expect the machine setting then I can’t expect my own reaction’_. He settles with, “—to, to see if a less controlled response time impacts the machinery.”

What a fucking joke. Varro completely buys it, his eyes going from Nikon to the machine to the remote like he’s actually worried about destroying Nikon’s device.

“Okay.” Varro tells him, holding his hand out for the remote. “I promise not to break you—your work.”

With a sigh that he absolutely would not admit to being shaky, Nikon passes the remote to the goddamn prince. Varro’s lips curl into a wondering smile and fuck if that’s not cute, but Nikon violently shakes his head and gets up onto his knees. The oil he’d been using earlier isn’t too far off the mat he’s been kneeling on, and without saying anything to Varro he grabs the bottle and twists around to pour the lubricant onto the _finally_ still dildo.

“Don’t touch anything,” he warns, not waiting for Varro to respond before he eases back onto the dildo. It’s not like he needed to stretch himself again, or lube himself—this model isn’t girthy, just high powered. Nikon shudders slightly as he presses back, and without looking at Varro he says, “Okay, go ahead.”

“What?” Varro says, faintly. When Nikon glances up at him, his eyes are wide, arms limp at his sides, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Oh. Right!” He clicks on the remote, and Nikon somehow still isn’t ready because he jumps with his whole body when the machine slides _out_ , and then _in_ , excruciatingly slow. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, head collapsing down onto his arms. It puts him into a humiliating position but he’s almost past caring. He’ll never, ever get used to the feeling; as he’s adjusting it’s still going, going, slow but unyielding and all while Varro just fucking _stands there_. 

“Is that ok?” Varro asks, walking around to - holy shit - get a better view. Nikon’s going to kill him. 

Nikon clenches his eyes shut and breathes in, out, in rhythm with it. “Yeah.” He tries not to think about _anything_ because if he thinks about Varro watching him get fucked by one of his own machines, he’ll either come immediately or die on the spot. Neither option is good. 

“Ok,” Varro says, and then turns the machine up higher. 

This time Nikon jerks so hard the dildo slips out, prods at him, and then slides back in with an obscene-sounding _pop_ that has Nikon burying his face in his arms again and _begging_ for death. Varro, at least, isn’t laughing at him. Varro isn’t saying anything, actually. For a second that’s a welcome reprieve, but it’s not like he can forget that Varro’s there (not like he _wants_ to) so he cranes his neck.

The expression on Varro’s face is hypnotized. He’s staring at the point where the machine is entering him, his eyes wide, breath unsteady, looking like a fucking moron. “‘S it really that interesting?” Nikon asks, his voice strained.

“Yes,” Varro says, without hesitation. “Yes, absolutely.” Well. Hell.

He keeps the machine at that pace for the longest time, so long that Nikon has time to adjust, and then time to start getting bored, until finally he’s forced to squirm and mutter, “Faster.”

Varro says, a little sing-song, “I thought you’d never ask, dear,” and Nikon is going to _kill_ him except that the machine gets kicked up two speed settings, one right after the other. Suddenly he’s too busy making embarrassing noises and trying to keep his legs underneath him to think about murder.

“Is that alright for you?” Varro asks, a little breathy. Nikon refuses to respond because he’s already choking down the higher pitched sounds in his throat. “Is it?” Varro asks, again, and Nikon slams his head into the mat before he can answer. Fuck, it didn’t feel like this before.

“ _Yesss_ ” He hisses. Then the machine ups another level, the one Nikon had been at when Varro first fucking walked in, and even though it hadn’t been enough at the time it’s _more_ than enough now. Nikon scrabbles at the floor, finally biting at his own bicep to try and muffle the noises he’s making. Faintly, he hears Varro padding across the mats. Then he sees a shadow, and he chances a look only to find that Varro is fucking kneeling by his head, holding the remote and staring down at Nikon’s face.

“Good.” Varro says, and embarrassingly enough that’s all it takes for Nikon to come all over the mat while meeting Varro’s eyes, his teeth still buried into his own arm. The machine keeps going at speed, the squelching of it finally seeming to remind Varro to turn it the fuck off.

Nikon’s limbs are all liquid as he slides to the floor. He thinks maybe he’s going to combust from embarrassment in a minute, but just then he feels too good, and Varro hasn’t gotten up off the floor yet. He’s actually petting Nikon’s hair a little, which is weird. All of this is weird. He doesn’t care.

“This is the best birthday gift,” Varro says, wonderingly. Nikon makes an inarticulate sound into the mat. “So, you’ll be at the gala?”

This finally gets him to raise his head, just a fraction, though not enough to dislodge Varro’s hand. “Did I fuckin’ say that?”

Varro blinking guilelessly down at him. “But how else are you going to deliver my machine?”

Nikon...blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries _desperately_ to think of another way to take that, because Varro wasn’t implying… he couldn’t be, right? 

He waits too long. “Great!” Varro is already beginning to stand up, beaming down at him. He leans down to grasp Nikon’s chin, draw his gaze up to meet Varro’s eyes. “Next Saturday night at the castle. See you then, dear.”

“ _Hold_ on,” Nikon finally manages, but Varro is already striding out the door, as confidently as he’d originally barged in. Nikon’s limbs give out again, sending him sinking back down into the mess of the mat on his workroom floor. “Fuck my entire life.”


End file.
